Top Down Day

by Nicole Overby

  “Turns out my dad’s in the hospital.”

  Why did I sound so casual?

  “Oh no! Really? How come? Is he okay? Are you okay?”

  I could see the genuine concern on his face. He loves my family nearly as much as I do. Even with their differences, and they certainly have those-- especially when it comes to NFL football teams-- he knows how much my family means to me; therefore, they mean a lot to him, too.

  “I’m not exactly sure. Mom kind of rushed off the phone. She mentioned he was throwing up some blood, but said it wasn’t serious.”

  If one thing stuck from our conversation, it was her repeating, “It’s nothing serious.” I knew she was lying or, at best, hiding something, but now here I am stealing her line.

  “Do the doctors know where the bleeding is coming from?”

  I didn’t even want to think about the answer to this question. I don’t know anything about arteries, organs, or what even causes a person to throw up blood. That’s Kristen’s forte. I just know throwing up blood isn’t normal, and I’m okay with only knowing that much. I didn’t need to know where it was coming from or what got so fucked up to even cause blood to be there in the first place.

  “They were taking him to do a CT scan when she hung up. I don’t think I’ve received an update from her about the results.” How long do these tests usually take anyways?

  I reach into my purse searching for my phone as I finish the sentence. The screen is blank-- no missed calls or texts. I open my recent calls, trying to decide if I should call my mom back for an update. Shit. I forgot to call Kristen back. I pause, trying to decide if I should call her back. I better hold off; she can always tell when I’m keeping something from her. Before I realize what I’m doing, I draft a text for my dad. Maybe it will cheer him up. I hit send and let my words, ‘Thinking of you’ travel to his phone.

  “Do you have to go home this weekend?” Brandon asks, obviously still very concerned.

  “Mom said it isn’t there yet.”

  I don’t even look up as I answer him. I’m now in the middle of drafting a text for my mom, “Any update on the CT scan??”

  “I’m sure he’ll be okay.”

  I’ve always loved Brandon’s positive outlook on situations, but I’m too focused on my phone to appreciate his response.

  Breaking the silence, Brandon asks, “When do you have to go into the city again?”

  “Um, I’m going to drive to the hotel after I leave here.”

  Still distracted, my sentences are broken up with sighs of silence.

  “The conference is all day Saturday and part of the day Sunday.”

  I finally look up at him and finish my thoughts.

  “What are your plans for the weekend?”

  Truthfully, I don’t hear a word he’s saying back to me. I’m too distracted by my own thoughts.

  Is my mom going to keep me updated? Should I excuse myself and give her a call? Why did Kristen call me? Did Mom tell her about Dad? Should I excuse myself and give her a call?

  I don’t know what to do or what to think.

  The ping paralyzes me in my chair. Why weren’t my fingers moving to grab my phone? Brandon looks down at my phone placed on the table between us. We both look at the lit up screen and simultaneously read the sender of the text message-- Mom <3 <3 <3. His eyes rise to meet mine.

  “I think you should read that,” he whispers.

  I read the message out loud, “CT scan complete. stomach is the source. now we know where to start, all ok here.”

  I feel pressure releasing from my chest as quickly as the air whistling out of a flat tire. I keep re-reading “all ok here.” I knew I was letting my mind wander too far. Brandon’s right-- Dad’s going to be okay. We’re all going to be okay.

  Kristen

  “Thanks for hanging out. I needed to kick-start my weekend with some girl talk!”

  We ended up getting carried away with brunch, but the Java date was one-hundred percent necessary. I haven’t seen much of Lindsey this semester since nursing school has slowly taken over any free time I thought I would have. It’s nice to finally catch up.

  “And I needed that double shot of espresso,” shouts Lindsey as we both laugh.

  “I am not looking forward to this drive home.”

  I lean back into the chair, letting my head fall back as I think about the upcoming boring drive.

  “You driving home too?”

  “Yeah, I’m going to head back to our place to grab my bags then I’ll start the drive.”

  “I should stop complaining about my drive, then! My hour-long trip is starting to seem a lot better when I think about your four-hour drive,” I tease, as I really did pity her long drive. She’d been slowly moving her things back home as the semester got closer to an end.

  “Haha! It’s not too bad. I have some podcasts downloaded to help drown out the misery… but… I better head out, my family is expecting me to make it for dinner.”

  I give her a hug goodbye and call out, “Safe travels. Let me know when you finally make it home!” before getting in my car.

  With Google Maps all loaded up for directions home, I send a text to the family group message, “On my way home- can’t wait to see everyone!” Guilt creeps up after I send the text. I keep forgetting Natalie won’t be joining us this weekend. I shouldn’t have said “everyone.” My guilt reminds me that I never heard from her or my mom. I’m surprised my mom hasn’t called minimally three times asking for any specialty items at the grocery store or my ETA. I send her an individual text, “Excited to see you! Love you.” I’m sure I’ll get something back in response. An instant response comes across my screen. Thomas sends back a gif of a baby all excited. I can’t wait to see him; he’s been so busy with his new consulting job, I can't remember the last time we’ve really talked.

  I look down at my phone. I would arrive around 4 PM. The Charlotte Outlets were only a few miles out of the way. I decide to add one short stop on the route back home to break up the drive.

  Dawn

  “Dawn Owen?” the nurse asks.

  “How is he doing?” I blurt out as I stand up from my chair.

  “We did the CT scan and can tell the source of the bleeding is coming from his stomach. However, there is too much blood to see the direct cause. We’re going to do another procedure to find the exact source. The doctor will be out shortly to explain the next steps.”

  “The stomach,” I repeat back to her.

  “The stomach is the source. That’s good we know the source.” I keep repeating back to her, or to me, I’m exactly sure who I’m telling anymore. This is a step in the right direction. We know the source.

  It’s almost as if the nurse in the dark scrubs can see my brain working through the news. She watches as I take the only source of information I’ve been given and hold onto it with everything I have, with all of my hope.

  “Also…” she mumbles, “does your husband have a living will?”

  My eyebrows narrow as her words approach me, digesting her question. What the hell! Why does she need to know this? Why would she ask me this right now?

  “Um, yes?”

  My vision goes to the lockbox in our closet. I can see the box opening, the shoved papers all crumbled inside.

  “Unfortunately, we will need you to go get the will and bring it back to the hospital.”

  Her eyes traveling up and down my face.

  “I’m sorry, it’s a standard procedure.”

  Her eyes break mine as she finishes her sentence.

  Leave the hospital, drive home, and come back? No way. No freaking way!

  I look her directly in her eyes, as firm as I can, and respond, “I live 27 minutes away from the hospital.”

  I wonder if my face is turning red.

  “It will be over an hour until I return.”

  I’ve done everything they’ve asked so far, but this, I’m not doing this. I don’t care what they say.

  “I unders
tand, Mrs. Owen. I wish it were up to me. Could you possibly call someone to pick it up and bring it here?”

  Who am I supposed to ask to go into my house, open my safe, and grab his will? How do I even begin to explain why I need it?

  “I can certainly try, but I’m not sure I can get it.”

  The nurse starts to turn, accepting my response for now, and walks away. She seems detached from what she’s telling me. It’s as if she doesn’t care that every word she speaks breaks me a little more inside. Her face did seem tired, and her pace is slow. Maybe it’s been a long day already? I try to remember if she mentioned if she’d been here for a while. Is she new to these hours? Is she fresh out of school? Right as I’m trying to guess her age, she turns around. Was I saying this all out loud?

  “Oh, and Mrs. Owen.”

  What now?

  “Do you have anyone to join you in the waiting room?”

  She pauses, allowing me time to think.

  “Maybe a family member or friend?”

  “I’m okay. Corey wouldn’t want anyone else waiting on him.”

  She sighs. “I think you need to call someone. I can explain what’s going on so you don’t have to, but I really think you need to call someone. This might be a long road ahead of you and it’ll be helpful to have someone to lean on.”

  Lean on. It stings. I know she didn’t mean for it to, but it does.

  “Thank you, but I’m okay.”

  Her eyes don’t look as tired anymore. I feel her pity radiate towards me. Why can’t I get a read on this woman?

  “Call someone,” she firmly states, almost as if she’s scolding me.

  Laughter starts to grow in my throat as I try to hold it down. Call someone. Who does she think I can call? The same person who is supposed to be getting Corey’s will? This woman doesn’t know me, doesn’t know my family, doesn’t know Corey.

  |5:00 PM|

  Natalie

  I take the last sip of my unsweetened ice tea, listening to the straw slurp at the empty cup. I wasn’t in the mood for a drink anymore. I’m dreading the drive into the city. The weather always makes traveling in Erie so difficult, no matter what time of the year it is. I look up at Brandon.

  “I better head out” I let out.

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah. I know. Let me walk you out.”

  The air seems colder as we exit the restaurant. March brings along strange weather in Erie.

  “Call me when you arrive at your hotel.”

  “I plan on getting some homework done tonight, but I’ll send you a text once I get settled.”

  “Okay, okay. Drive safely.”

  “Love you.”

  I know what comes next.

  “Love you always.”

  He gives me a wink and closes my car door for me. I watch him walk towards his car. Before opening his door, he turns around back to me and signals for me to roll the window down.

  “Keep me updated on your dad. He’s going to be okay, Natalie.”

  “I know.”

  Rolling up the window, I let the last rush of cold air into my car before heading off.

  Do I though?

  Dawn

  The elevator dings. I watch my dad slowly appear behind the opening doors. His eyes are so wide behind his glasses, as if he’s seen a ghost. I did finally agree to call someone to come wait with me, with the contingency that the lead nurse did all of the talking. I feel guilty that I didn’t explain it to him earlier. He’s had a rough year, full of countless visits to the hospitals and even funeral homes. My dad’s the youngest of eight children, and it seems 2019 is the year everyone’s either having a heart attack or being diagnosed with cancer. It’s been a shit year. That is for sure.

  “Dawn.” I can hear the concern in his voice as he gets closer.

  Why does everyone feel the need to tiptoe around me?

  “Hey, Dad.”

  His hug instantly makes me want to cry. Let it all out; give myself a second to panic. But I don’t. I take a breath and pull it all back in.

  “Thanks for coming. I hate bothering you, but the nurse told me to call someone, and I didn’t know who else to call.”

  “No bother at all.”

  His grip on my shoulders is tight.

  “The nurse on the phone seems nice.”

  I’m not sure if I would go as far as calling her nice.

  He picks the seat right next to me and continues to say, “Any updates? How are you doing?”

  How do I begin to answer that question? I haven’t even taken a moment to really think about how I’m feeling. I’ve been so focused on Corey; he’s more important right now.

  “You know, hanging in there.” I avoid eye contact as I answer, hoping he can’t detect the lies rolling off of my tongue.

  He places his hand back on my shoulder. It brings me back to being a teenager, needing my dad’s protection. We don’t say another word, but at least we wait together for an update. I hate to admit it, but I’m glad the nurse pushed me to call someone. Even though we aren’t speaking, it brings comfort to know I’m not alone awaiting the unknown in this uncomfortable waiting room. The companionable silence is the slightest bit more bearable.

  I listen to the elevator ding once more. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Marianne. She’s always so put together. She lightens the room with her smile.

  “How’s Santa Claus doing?” she asks as she hands me the manila folder. I let out a laugh, and it feels so damn good.

  Marianne and her husband often joke that Corey is Santa Claus. They never see him, but know he has to exist, despite physical proof. Corey’s been unusually busy with work lately. The company he’s worked for his entire career decided to spin off a new business, and Corey was asked to help get it established. It’s quite an honor, and even when he tries to make it sound like it isn’t a big deal to join the team, I know Corey’s so proud of himself. We all are so proud of him.

  I know the living will is in the folder she handed me without opening it. Such a thoughtful touch to disguise it. She always thinks one step ahead of everyone else.

  “He’s doing better! Thanks for bringing this; the nurses said it was just for precautionary measures. You know hospitals-- always needing to protect their asses!”

  What the hell am I saying? Is Corey doing better? Did the nurses ever say it was precautionary measures? Now I can’t keep the story straight in my head. I can’t tell if I’m lying or telling the truth. I look down at my shaking hands. I squeeze my fingers together to remind myself I’m not dreaming. I need to get my story together.

  “Let me go get you and your dad some food.”

  “No, Marianne. That is so not necessary! We won’t be here much longer.”

  Did the nurses tell me that?

  “Oh stop, I’ll be back shortly!”

  She went back to the elevator doors. I turn to my dad, looking at me confused. The story he was given thirty minutes ago sounded completely different than what I just told Marianne. The nurse told my Dad about the seriousness of the amount of blood Corey had lost. She told him to come right away so I didn’t have to process the information alone, make decisions alone. I have no idea why I’m trying to be nonchalant with Marianne. I know she would understand; I know she would be there for me. But I don’t want to bother her anymore than I already have.

  Before I can form a sentence to explain myself, the nurse comes out from the ICU doors, but this time a doctor accompanies her.

  “Mrs. Owen, this is Dr. Kellie, the ICU doctor.”

  I can tell the nurse is pleased to see my dad has joined me in the waiting room as they approach us.

  “Hello, Mrs. Owen.”

  He extends his hand for me to shake. Just get to the point.

  “Unfortunately, your husband is still actively bleeding.”

  He gives a moment to let the news set in. A moment for me to lose my breath. A moment for my head to start spinning.

  “Really, the best option is for us to do interventional radi
ology, which we call IR.”

  He no longer spares any time before diving into the details of the procedure.

  “We’ll use image guidance to go in through his groin and find the exact source of his bleeding in his stomach. IR is a minimally invasive treatment and it’s our best option. Of course, we can take you back before the procedure so you can see Corey if you would like.”

  I can’t tell if this was good or bad news. The doctor seems so wooden in his words, yet he has a sense of urgency. I wonder if having minimal emotions is required to work in a hospital. I nod my head in response to his question; of course I want to see him.

  “We will be back in a few minutes to escort you to his room.” With this, the doctor begins to walk away, leaving the nurse behind.

  My dad turns to me and whispers, “Is it just me or does this doctor seem too young to even be playing R-rated video games, let alone operate on Corey?”

  We both let out a nervous laugh.

  Surely, he has gone through years of schooling and clinical rotations. Surely, he has done this procedure a million times and could now do it with his eyes closed. Surely, he would stop the bleeding and we would be leaving the hospital soon. Right?

  I grab my phone.

  “Mrs. Owen, do you and Corey have any children?”

  I forgot the nurse was still standing with us. I just started my Google search of “IR procedure” when she asked the question. I slowly look up to meet her gaze while my heart stops beating and my throat grows dry.

  I can hear someone answering, “Yes, they have three children.” Am I answering or is it someone else? I begin to worry that I've lost all power over my mouth when the ringing in my ear comes back, stronger than ever.

  “You, or your dad,” her eyes bounce back and forth between us both trying to plead with at least one of us, “need to call all three of your children and tell them where you are.”

  I jump in before anyone else can. “I don’t want to bother my children.” I hope she can hear in my voice my plea for her to drop it. “It’s too soon.” I’m not ready to turn their worlds upside down. I’m not ready to hear the fear in their voices. I’m not ready to try to comfort or reassure them when I haven’t even done it for myself yet.